


Pink and Yellow: The Blog of a Flower Shop Girl

by Skyler10



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Blogging, Chocolate, F/M, First Dates, Florists, Language of Flowers, Reader-Insert, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 16:56:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9666953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyler10/pseuds/Skyler10
Summary: A lonely florist is resigned to her life of expertise in assisting those who have what she never seems to: a date for Valentine’s. Luckily, she has a blog with loyal followers (you).





	

**Author's Note:**

> For TPP’s Fourth Wall Break and doctorroseprompts AU prompt: flowershop AU Valentine’s meetcute. Note the dates. ;)

**Thursday, February 12**

Those of you who have been reading my little blog here might remember me saying before that the mechanics of floral care are only the beginning. Sure, you have to know about cutting technique and the types of arrangements and even the extensive etiquette around which types of flowers belong at what kinds of events. But there is an art to it as well, beyond cultural knowledge and botany.

When I started The Rose Garden with my friend and colleague, Lily O’Martin, we spent so much time joking about our names and learning the science and studying for our business degrees at night school that we thought we knew what we were doing on opening day. But what we didn’t know is that working in a flower shop, you have to know just as much about people as you do about flowers.

Take, for example, our signature product and my namesake, the English rose. Eternally common and identifiable to even the least educated of buyers, and yet, to the recipient, a dozen roses can mean a thousand things. And not just red for romance, yellow for friendship, pink for that first blush of new love…

For example, a man walks into our shop the other day, browsing for orange flowers to send his wife for their anniversary because he knew she liked the color. He had no idea what an orange rose meant. His idea of a romantic message was “Happy V-day. Cheers.” But I always include a card explaining how we consult with customers on the meaning of their bouquet to assure the right message is sent. Thus, tonight at home, before they head off into the city to a restaurant overlooking the Thames with the city lights flickering in the distance, he will present her with a bouquet of gratitude for their years together, enthusiasm about their relationship, and passion to carry them through the night.

Sometimes they will bring their significant other back to have tea at Lily’s Tea Shop. Sometimes those who purchase elaborately entwined red roses for a special date night will return to hire us for their weddings and even browse through our greenhouse full of houseplants and topiaries and stone garden accessories.

I admit I stop by the wine and chocolate shop next door on my way home on those days.

Lily is happily married with no kids of her own but enough nieces and dogs to keep her busy for many lifetimes. She met her husband, predictably, in a public garden through mutual lamenting and criticism of the landscaping. He is a city planner with a specialty in public “green” spaces. She adores his every word and he worships the ground she walks on.

I’m very happy for them, of course, but anytime my mum or my adopted brother, Mickey, or anyone else utters the phrase “always the shopgirl, never the Valentine,” I think of Lily and her life and refill my wine glass.

Here’s to the single ones out there this week. Stay strong, my loyal followers. Xoxo

 

* * *

 

**Friday, February 13**

Yes, it is Friday the 13th, which seems like especially bad luck that it falls the day before Valentine’s.

It isn’t just superstition either. I have already had three orders canceled today that sounded suspiciously due to ended relationships. One was so bold as to ask for the name on the order to be changed. I didn’t like doing it, but I couldn’t exactly refuse a paying customer, so “to Harriet” became “to Cynthia” and no one’s the wiser. Except all of you, of course. Well, those aren’t their real names, anyway. (I always change the names of my customers I mention on this blog to protect their privacy. Sort of like a sacred lawyer-client, doctor-patient, priest-confessor thing.)

One man came in today with a name so boring you’d never believe me if I told you I have no need to change it. John Smith.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: perhaps he gave me a false name to protect some sort of clandestine affair. But he wasn’t the type. (I know the type.) And unless he is committing credit card fraud (yes, I checked his card before I ran it) and lying about this “Donna” woman being his half-sister, I think it’s safe to say that he simply has the least creative parents in England.

At any rate, he bought her yellow roses. When I questioned this, making sure he knew they had a strictly platonic meaning, he explained about her being his sister, who had recently broken off her engagement with a bloke named Lance who was sneaking around behind her back. As a good older brother, he simply wanted to make sure she was taken care of for Valentine’s Day. I joked that I wish my brother was that thoughtful, though I know very well Mickey is completely unaware it is Valentine’s Day at all. Which is a greater tragedy for his girlfriend, Martha, anyway.

I realized too late that I was sharing all of this aloud with this handsome stranger who wore no ring and was only buying one bouquet. For his heartbroken sister. I was leaning across the counter, dear reader. I admit it. I couldn’t stop staring at his very-touchable-looking messy brown hair (really, really great hair) and I was breaking the ONE. CARDINAL. RULE. of running a flowershop. Never, ever, ever, fall for a customer.

Of course, this rule is meant to protect us from romanticizing already attached men who are only here to buy flowers for someone else. But this someone else was a relation, not a wife, and he certainly wasn’t sending any signs that he _wasn’t_ interested.  

I told Lily this, of course, and she lectured me for an hour over our afternoon tea and then served freshly baked cake, so I assume I was forgiven, but she didn’t see him! She didn’t have the whole story: the way his eyes twinkled, the way he flirted after a brief glance down at my diamond-less hand, the way he subtly asked about my plans for tomorrow. Was it hope I saw in those dark eyes that seem far older than the rest of him? Did he really take one of my business cards (specifically making sure it was mine and not Lily’s) with a promise to come again soon?

Am I a victim of Friday the 13th and all the bad luck that comes with it?

I don’t care. I’m enjoying my second glass of bubbly Lambrusco and a truffle that bears an uncanny resemblance to those eyes I can’t get out of my memory.

Good night, loves. Xoxo

 

* * *

 

**Saturday, February 14**

I never do this. Or, I’ve never done this before. I think I might be dating a customer. Or soon to be dating one. But I can’t be sure.

Let me start from the beginning.

He was outside the shop this morning, 8 am sharp, when I arrived to open the door. _He_ being the John Smith from yesterday who has such a common, uninteresting name that you don’t believe me that I haven’t changed a letter.

He was carrying two coffees. This is how far gone I am, in full disclosure: my stomach sank, assuming the second coffee was for his girlfriend.

Not his boss, his sister, anyone else. I immediately second guessed everything I had published to the entire internet last night. I was a fool and should have listened to Lily and should NOT have had that second glass or fallen asleep wondering if he would be willing to take my last name because _Rose Smith_ is almost as boring as his.

I digress.

The second coffee was, in fact, for me. He felt badly that he knew so little about flowers yesterday and had caused extra work for me (he hadn’t) and that he had kept me from my other duties (I had no other customers the entire time he was there) and had just generally taken up so much of my time (so he came back for more?). I was trying to use all of my people-reading skills that I had developed in my years of being a professional florist and business owner, but my chronic singleness was crying out louder than any rationality that would have told me this was just a friendly gesture from a grateful customer.

I swiped two pastries from behind Lily’s counter, and we had a lovely breakfast. He stayed at our table, even when I had other customers (forgetful husbands, first-time boyfriends… unsurprisingly, all of my customers were haggard-looking males from the young ones buying a single rose with a teddy bear to the older ones buying a dozen with a sheepish smile and a shrug of acknowledgement that they had only been reminded this morning what today was).

One customer did try to get a bit fresh, an arrogant errand boy for a big name executive (another name I won’t share but if only you knew how many different women he was ordering for…) When I came back with his boss’s flowers, however, he was a different boy. He shot a glance to John, who was innocently enjoying his pastry and coffee.

After the lad hurried away, I asked John what he had said while I was in the back. He only replied that he thought it was time someone spoke to the boy about respecting women and that was all. I raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t elaborate.

Is it wrong that this made me want him even more? He wasn’t exactly defending my honor, just giving a tosser a word about manners, but it didn’t feel like simple decency when I tried to use my not-so-super powers to read his expression. It felt like a desire to have the right to be possessive, but knowing it wasn’t his place.

And it wasn’t. But I was quickly wanting it to be.

He eventually had to get to work at the university not far away. I commented on how lovely it was that he had stopped by, and that he was welcome to take up more of my time whenever he liked and I’d be happy to teach him all about flowers, and he said he’d be glad to. I mentioned that I had never seen him before despite his workplace being so close, and he confirmed that he hadn’t had a reason to come in as he didn’t have anyone but his sister to order flowers for.

I confess this made me smile brighter than it should have. The chorus of “no dating the customer” still played in the back of my head but my heart didn’t care. It was too busy drowning in his next words:

He may not have had a reason to come in, he said, but he always wanted to. He had seen me closing up in the evenings and always wanted an excuse to say hello.

Reader. I am still awash in shame over what happened next.

I said, “oh. Hello!”

As if we hadn’t spent all morning together and I hadn’t been drooling all over his every word all morning. Smooth, Rose Tyler, very smooth.

He laughed and said hello back, then awkwardly, we realized we were in the middle of saying goodbye.

I am positive that he went to work and told everyone how ridiculous I acted and that I am now known as the strange flower girl to everyone in the science and engineering department of that school. Why is it that I can be a perfectly normal human when it comes to being a daughter and a sister and a florist and a businesswoman, but when it comes to meeting men I turn into a complete alien? I mean, I don’t have much experience, of course, but surely that should be something natural, attracting a mate and all?

I already know what you’re going to say: I should probably have spent a little less of my 20s surrounded by plants and a little more of it learning about men.

 Alright, that’s the end of my lunch break. More later! Xoxo

 

**Saturday, February 14**

Yes, I know, I never blog twice in a single day, but this is important.

[First, to the commenter who said I should just snog him already: my, but you are bold! I had only met him the day before! Blimey. But… well. Just keep reading. ;) ]

I am currently a puddle of dark, molten chocolate. And not just because I have eaten enough of it to where I am fairly certain it is possible to be drunk on it.

Although I am rather tipsy as well.

However, neither of these things are from curling up with a glass and a bag of truffles and a romantic novel as one might expect if you have been following this blog long.

This time the alcohol and chocolate were from a real restaurant. A real restaurant a certain John Smith took me to. His sister had made reservations at a gorgeous exclusive restaurant, knowing her fiancé, Lance, would forget (and judging from my hectic but profitable afternoon, he would not have been alone). Of course, poor Donna would not be needing the reservation anymore.

So this handsome science professor calls the shop not six hours after he had breakfast there this morning, asking me if I was still free. Of course I was. But I simply told him my schedule was “flexible” (by which I secretly meant, my friends and family are all going out with their significant others and my “plans” were of the take-away and Netflix in my jimjams variety). I didn’t want to seem too eager, however. I didn’t need a pity date.

He didn’t sound like he was pitying though as he sighed in relief (!!! Yes, relief. Seriously, I swear.) and said he was very glad to hear it because he happened to be free as well and, as a courtesy to his sister (who was now having a drunken girlie night on the town tonight instead), he _would_ like to use the romantic restaurant reservation. It would make her very happy, and she was so grateful for the yellow roses, and would I please help make his sister’s Valentine’s Day a little brighter by not wasting such an opportunity?

I held back my laugh of delight but not my eyeroll since he couldn’t see it over the phone anyway and accepted. Pleasing his sister, my arse. He fancied me!

I nearly dropped the phone when he told me the name of the poshest restaurant in town and assured me he’d be paying.

Lily and I closed up early (she may have been a tinge jealous. Ok, a lot. But I knew from secretly helping her husband clear her work schedule that she was going to be surprised with a cruise tonight, so I couldn’t be too bothered to care about how long she’d been trying to get him to take her to the same place I had lucked into in one day.)

I wore a dress I only had in my closet from the time my mum dated an executive and he had invited us all to his company’s New Year’s Eve party. Fortunately, it still fit and was just as appropriate for the occasion. I won’t share a photo here because it isn’t the kind of thing a professional posts on her blog. (*ahem, ok, it may have shrunk a bit from the first time I wore it. And my bra choice tonight gave off a very different cleavage situation than when I wore it to mum’s boyfriend’s corporate office party.)  But trust me when I say, I was pretty confident that this was a very different look than my usual button-up shirt, jeans, and apron situation which John had seen me in so far.

I am shameless enough to say I was pleased by his reaction.

He picked me up at my flat, looking dashing in his black tie, and we had a perfectly awkward first date conversation that I can’t remember a word of the whole way to the restaurant. Then the waiter showed us to our table. It was exactly like I pictured. I must have seemed like a complete idiot as I stood there taking it all in while he pulled out my chair for me and waited for me to sit down in it.

But it was just like I always dreamed it would be: sunset over the river, city lights dotting the landscape, boats full of couples on expensive dinner cruises out the window. The dinner went smoothly enough, sharing both our food and about our lives. It was such an odd contrast: my awe of the posh romantic setting (a novel experience for a chronically single florist, as you can imagine) and just how… _easy_ it was being with him. We had already talked two hours that morning, a bit on the phone, and all the way through the ride to the restaurant and dinner, and I never found myself losing interest. In fact, it all just seemed so natural, as if we had been together for years.

We clapped for couples who got engaged and ate enough molten chocolate lava cake with chocolate ice cream to make it seem like a proper celebration. All the while, his free hand inched toward mine on the table. We put on our coats and walked along the riverside until we froze, then took a cab back to my place.

(No, not like that.)

He and I did stand outside my front door in the cold for much longer than was sensible as we put off saying our goodbyes. Finally, though, he noticed he was shivering and I was shivering and that it was incredibly uncomfortable standing there in heels (but of course, I didn’t want to scare him off or give him the wrong idea by inviting him inside and he was far too much of a gentleman to ever ask such a thing).

He leaned in and I could hardly let myself believe it until his lips were pressed to mine and we were sharing the Valentine’s Day kiss I’d always dreamed of on those nights alone after days full of sending out bouquet after bouquet meant for some other lucky girl.

We had already been standing so close that it was unquestionably predictable, but also so special and unexpected and world changing.

Like a dozen roses.

Good night, dear readers. I _would_ encourage you to let me know what you think I should do next in the comments, but I know you will anyway, you hopeless romantics. ;) xoxo

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

**Friday, November 13**

Friday the 13th again and nine months to the day since John and I met. I can’t help feeling like the world has it wrong. This is the luckiest day on the calendar; at least it has made me feel like the luckiest shopgirl in the universe.  

I try to hold on to that feeling these days but it isn’t always easy. I have exactly one day and three months until this wedding, and I am losing my mind. I’ve done the flowers for more weddings than I can count, but no one tells you as the florist how stressful it is planning your own! John tries to help wherever he can and has been generally wonderful as you know, but I am so exhausted these days with preparing for the Christmas rush (if anyone says the words “table centerpieces that don’t take up too much room but still look like they cost more than they do” to me again, I will scream. Or send them vases full of plastic daisies).

John has started helping out around the shop though, which is amusing to me because he approaches everything like an engineer, making our shipments more efficient and fixing whatever is broken. Lily thinks it’s because he’s afraid another handsome customer will come in and snatch me away, but he says it’s because he just likes watching me work. Considering how sexy I find his reading glasses and the way he puts his pen to his lips and the way his forehead scrunches up in concentration when he’s grading papers, I can’t tease him too much about wanting to organize my deliveries for me “so we can spend more time together.”

We’ve begun the process of moving in together and when I’m not out arguing with my mum about china or trying to find bridesmaids dresses that look good on every body type involved or sorting the RSVPs to our invitations, I feel like a princess. His flat is, well, certainly the type that fits an old London family with money and not that of a poor uni professor. Or a florist with a small shop. But with only him and Donna as the heirs, their parents left him plenty of money to cover not only a decently sized place to live but also our honeymoon (which is apparently a surprise! I know it’s somewhere I’ve never been, but that doesn’t narrow it down much as I’ve never been much of anywhere).

All this to say, I’m simultaneously in decorator heaven and wanderlusting and drowning in my to-do list.

I couldn’t imagine doing all of this with anyone else though. Who would have thought that when John Smith walked into my shop to buy flowers for his (utterly hilarious, brilliant) sister that I would be marrying him a year later?  

More specific cries for help coming later. I will post a few different arrangements for the bouquets and a poll for voting! Leave a comment with any wedding tips for us as we approach the final countdown. Xoxo

p.s. Someone with a very good memory (or who went back to look at my posts from the first weekend I met John) asked in the comments if I would be taking his name or if I would keep my own. xD Well, let’s just say, I’ve caught him doodling “Dr. Tyler” in his notebooks. Then again, very little about us is traditional, so I suppose I had nothing to worry about all those months ago. Haha!)  

  

* * *

* * *

 

* * *

 

**Sunday, February 14**

Just a quick note before it all begins to say thank you for all of your support these last few months! The garden looks gorgeous, the make-up and hair for the bridesmaids is in progress, and I’ve heard through the grapevine that John has been ready for hours and is driving his groomsmen crazy with his energy. I’ve texted him to calm down and that I love him and to relax, but the only response back was “I LOVE YOU TOOO” with about a dozen exclamation marks, so I’m not sure it did the job.

Oh, the music is starting and they are handing me my bouquet of white and red roses (did you expect anything else?). Time to go!

p.s. I probably won’t be posting for a while… ;)  Happy Valentine’s Day, loves! Xoxo

 


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